


A Bit of Fashion Advice

by persephone_il (the_ragnarok), the_ragnarok



Category: Weiss Kreuz
Genre: Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-29
Updated: 2003-09-29
Packaged: 2017-10-16 01:40:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/167054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/persephone_il, https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A missing scene from ep. 10. You didn't think Omi got   dressed like that on his own, did you?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bit of Fashion Advice

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank Patti for her great beta and general support.
> 
> This piece was originally written as part of what was supposed to be an AU of epic proportions, but it didn't really fit in and so was salvaged to go off on its own.
> 
> To be honest, Omi's clothes and attitude in the club gave me serious giggles. It was like he was trying to be suave and ended up looking like a friendly puppy. Yohji would've either fainted or laughed himself to death. Probably both. :)

Yohji meandered upstairs, leaning semi-casually by the door to Omi's room. He waited for a few minutes before deciding that his curiosity was more important than Omi's virtue and invited himself inside. He knocked as he opened the door, to forefend insults made on his manners.

"What- Yohji-kun!" Omi was hiding behind a pair of pants nearly bigger than he was. His face was growing an alarming shade of red. "You could at least close the door!"

Yohji shrugged and pulled the door closed. Frowning, he pulled the pants away from Omi's hands. "You're not seriously meaning to wear these, are you?" He dangled the offending garment in front of Omi's face. "I mean, you're supposed to attract the target, not make them run away screaming."

Omi made an attempt at the pants, which Yohji easily avoided. Damn, he liked being tall. "Give them back! And what's wrong with them? It's a perfectly good pair of jeans."

Jeans? Huh? Yohji had no idea jeans came in that unappealing brown/blue shade. "Listen, kid, when you go to Roppongi, you don't wear something that's 'perfectly good'. You wear something that's *damned* good."

"Oh, for-" Omi made an abortive gesture and sat down on the bed, wrapping himself in the sheet and glaring at Yohji. "I suppose you've got a better idea?"

Yohji rolled his eyes. "And here I thought you knew me. Trust me on this: I will find something better for you to wear, or my name isn't Kudou Yohji." He turned to Omi's closet, sensibly ignoring the boy's muttering, and dug in. "Too big. Too orange. Too schoolboy. What the hell made you buy *that*? Don't answer." It took him forever to find something even close to decent.

"Okay," Yohji said, throwing a pair of tight black pants and a red bandanna at Omi. "Put these on." He waited impatiently. "Oh, for crying out loud, Omi, lose the sheet. You don't have anything I haven't seen, trust me."

Omi flushed and went on to get dressed. Just to be contrary, Yohji gave him the once over as he put the pants on. Not much to look at, really, unless you were in contact with your internal pedophile - which Yohji wasn't, and the other guys could laugh all they wanted about why all these high school girls *really* came to the shop. Still, Omi would grow to be a good-looking man, if Yohji was any judge. With his eyes and complexion, and maybe a bit of fashion advice...

Omi was obviously done with the pants, and he was now tying the bandanna over his hair. Yohji gave him a critical look and said, "No, it would look better around your neck. Tie it from behind." Omi did, and Yohji smiled with satisfaction. "Wait a minute and I'll scrounge up a shirt for you."

Omi scowled. "I have plenty of shirts."

"Correction: you have plenty of *ugly* shirts."

"Whereas your shirts are the pinnacle of perfection."

"Other shirts look to them for guidance and wisdom- throw that pillow at me and you'll be sorry, Tsukiyono."

Omi hid said pillow behind his back and gave Yohji his best "who, me?" look. Yohji narrowed his eyes in an imitation of Aya's "yes, you," look and hurried away to his room, barely ducking the pillow.

A quick glance through his closet revealed a number of shirts that could be considered decent, with a bit of inventive thought and maybe a judiciously used safety pin or twenty. In a fit of inspiration, Yohji threw into the impromptu fashion kit a bottle of hair gel and a necklace. He carried the pile back to Omi's room and dumped it on his bed.

Omi scowled. "I have to sleep on that, you know."

"That's a dirty lie, Omi," Yohji said, cheerfully pulling out a random shirt and plastering it against Omi. "You never sleep. And ugh, this one is *no* a go." He dumped it on the floor.

"Who died and made you fashion councilor, anyway?" Omi attempted to slip away. Yohji, through use of the superior wisdom he gained with age - I.E., the knowledge of arm-twisting - prevented his escape.

"Hush. I'm doing this for you own good- Here, try this one on."

Omi slipped his arm into the shirt and started buttoning it up. "Black shirt, black pants. All I need is black fingernail polish and some hair gel."

Yohji waved the bottle. "Got it."

Omi gave him a horrified look. "I was kidding."

Yohji looked at him, considering. "Sure? I think punk just might be your look. Look at me and say 'Fuck the establishment', please..."

Omi, who had just finished buttoning, gave a disgusted snort and began unbuttoning.

"Keep your shirt on, kid." Yohji sniggered. "Seriously - it's not really black, just a really deep purple. It's a lot lighter when there's black light on, which is how these places are lit half the time anyway. And with the bandanna, you'll look absolutely nothing like Sid Vicious, promise."

Omi's face was blank. "Like who?"

Yohji sighed. "Today's kids." He grabbed Omi's hands as they moved. "No, keep the shirt open, looks better that way." Looked less like it was about to slip off Omi's shoulder, anyway. Yohji hoped that the target *was* in contact with his inner pedophile.

Omi raised his hands, which were hidden deep inside the shirt's sleeves. "I don't think I'm *supposed* to look like Oliver Twist."

"Amazingly, you're right." Yohji folded back the shirt's sleeves. "There. Now you look as though you bought a shirt that's four sizes too big for you so you'd look cool."

Omi's horrified look made a glorious comeback. "And that's a good thing?"

"Sure it is. You'll fit right in with the crowds. Now, hold still." Yohji quickly uncapped the gel bottle and applied it to Omi's already spiky hair. Frowning, he moved most of it over to the front, messed with it just a little... "There. Perfect."

Omi opened his door. When he saw the coast was clear, he darted out. When he came back, he said, "It looks exactly the same."

Yohji gave the Sigh of the Eternal Martyr. "Have I mentioned that you have no taste?"

"In the last ten minutes? Yes. Repeatedly." Omi shook his head experimentally, flinging drops of gel everywhere. "Gross."

"Ah, you never knew the sacrifices I made for my beauty, did you? Come here." He fastened the necklace. "All right. Turn around." He looked Omi over and considered. "Just needs a finishing touch. Wait right here." Yohji left the room and came back a moment later bearing sunglasses, which he positioned atop Omi's head.

Omi lowered them and peered at the room. "Are these painted black? I can't see a thing."

Yohji levered them up again. "Don't try to use them, you silly kid. They're for impression only. Now stop messing with my creation." Omi muttered his opinion about Yohji's creative abilities, which Yohji cheerfully ignored. "Maybe we should add a bit of eyeliner..."

Omi backed away quickly. "Shouldn't I be going out now?"

Yohji checked his watch. "Yeah, actually. C'mon, I'll give you a ride."

Omi grabbed a coat from his closet and ran down the stairs. Yohji smiled and shook his head. Omi's all grown up and going to clubs... It was making him teary-eyed, really.


End file.
